


Snap-Day

by Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me



Series: Destiel Feels [22]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Angelic Grace (Supernatural), Baking, Birthday Fluff, Fix-It, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Light Angst, Light Dom/sub, Love Confessions, M/M, Poor Sam, Season 15, in which 15x20 never happened, post 15x18, this is the new ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 08:33:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28468332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me/pseuds/Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me
Summary: After everything that he's done for the world, Castiel deserves a day that's all abouthim, and Dean is determined to make that happen.(For the sake of this story, we are just going to pretend 15x20 never happened)
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Destiel Feels [22]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/218576
Comments: 26
Kudos: 166
Collections: SPN Finale "Destiel is CANON" Collection





	Snap-Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kansouame](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kansouame/gifts).



> A birthday gift for the wonderful **[Kansouame](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/kansouame)**.
> 
> (This got a lot dirtier than I was originally intending. Hope you don't mind.)

* * *

* * *

* * *

“One tablespoon of coco powder … two cups of peanut butter …” Dean is muttering to himself as he looks over the recipe he printed out, running back and forth to the pantry, and then to the grocery bags on the table.

When Sam walks into the kitchen, he stops dead at the sight of his older brother—smattered with flour, covered up with a dark grey apron, in the middle of what can only be described as a bomb-site. “Dude, what the hell are you doing?”

Dean looks up, blank faced—as if it’s obvious. “What do you think I’m doing? I’m baking, Sam.”

“I don’t think baking involves a blood bowl” Sam says, picking up the archaic, stone bowl that’s sitting on the counter.

Dean shrugs before turning his attention back to the recipe. “Well, we don’t have a lot of mixing bowls in this place. Don’t worry, I didn’t end up using it.”

Sam cocks his eyebrow. “Yeah— _um_ —okay, well … why the hell are you baking anyway?”

Dean drones something under his breath, and the younger Winchester can’t quite make it out.

“What?”

“Cas’s birthday” Dean says, louder now as his cheeks turn red.

“Cas’s … it’s Cas’s birthday today?” Sam asks, feeling guilty for a moment before coming to his senses a moment later. “Wait … he’s an angel. Angels don’t have _birthdays_ , Dean.”

“How do you know?” Dean snips as he measures out a cup of sugar from the bag.

“ _Um_ … because, they were never _born_. God just like— _created_ _them_ when he created the world. He probably just snapped them into existence or something.”

“Well then … this is Cas’s _Snap-Day_ alright? Happy?” Dean rolls his eyes, dumping the sugar into the mixing bowl with the flour and coco powder before going back to the paper in front of him to read the next step.

“That’s not …” Sam groans, finally walking over to one of the stools by the table to sit down, “whatever, man. Whatever you wanna call it, _isn’t_ the point. The point is, Cas existed before time even really existed, so you can’t possibly know _when_ he came to be. There isn’t an exact date.”

Dean finally stops his measuring and mixing, feeling the sudden urge to crack a few eggs over his brother’s thick head. “No—that’s _not_ the point, Sam. I don’t care _when_ he was actually born, or created or _snapped_ into existence or whatever. I just care that his existence is celebrated. Is that alright with you? Can I do that for my friend?”

Sam does feel a little guilty now, because he knows how hard losing Cas was on Dean. He saw just how broken his brother had been; and he saw just how whole he became again when Castiel finally returned. And here _he_ is, shitting all over his brother’s happiness because of a few unimportant details. “Yeah, sorry. I think this is really nice of you, Dean.”

Dean nods, looking around the kitchen a moment before a crooked smile slants across his face. “Yeah, well … not sure how it’s gonna turn out, or if he’ll even like it; but he loved peanut butter when he was human, and I found this peanut butter chocolate cake recipe online, and I thought … I dunno.”

Sam chuckles, feeling his chest warm with the sight of his bumbling brother. He truly loves seeing him like this—excited and focused on something _good_ , something kind, something he can do for someone else that isn’t _life-or-death._ “So …” he begins again, leaning his elbow onto the table as he watches Dean pour some melted butter into the bowl, “why today? Why is New Year’s Eve Cas’s ‘Snap-Day’ or whatever?”

Dean shrugs a second time, stirring his cake batter until all the ingredients blend into a sweet, dark paste. “I dunno. I mean, like you said—he was created right when the world was, so … I thought about it metaphorically. _New year, new world, time starting over_ … seemed to fit more than any other day.”

“Yeah. Okay, I can see that” Sam says. “Do you need any help? You want me to do anything?”

Dean looks over at his baby brother, a little surprised by the offer, but he’s touched all the same. “Really?”

“Yeah, man. He’s my friend too. I’m really glad he’s back.”

Dean smiles, nodding as he wipes his forehead with the back of his hand—but he only smears some wet batter into his hair. “ _Um_ … yeah. I mean, if you really want to … do you think you could _uh_ , get some decorations?”

Sam spits out a laugh. “What, seriously? You want balloons and shit?”

Dean’s smile quickly turns to a grimace. “ _Yeah, Sam!_ I want some balloons! And maybe a tablecloth … not one of those cheap plastic ones either. I want a nice, fabric one. _Blue_ … make it blue. And make the balloons blue and white; but don’t get any with the corny ‘Happy Birthday’ stamps on them. I want this to be classy, but still obviously a celebration. You don’t think our friend—our friend who died saving me, saving us … saving the freakin’ world deserves some nice décor?”

Sam’s eyes are wide, a little taken aback by his brother’s ferocity; but then again, when it comes to Cas, Sam knows that Dean is always a little too intense. “Alright, alright. _Jeez_ , I’ll get balloons and shit.”

“Not _shit_ , Sam! It needs to be classy!”

“ _Classy shit,_ then. Okay? I will get elegant blue and white decorations. Nothing cheap or chincy. _Promise_.”

“And flowers.”

Sam was starting to stand up, but he quickly sits back down again—staring at Dean who is now masterfully avoiding his gaze. “ _Flowers?_ ”

Dean nods, but he doesn’t say anything else. He just pours his batter into two round baking pans, concentrating hard to make sure they’re both even.

Sam clears his throat and finally stands up—shuffling towards the door of the kitchen so he can head out to get everything on his brother’s silly list. “Okay … _flowers_. Any particular type?”

Dean bites his lip, still not looking at Sam as he nods again. “Roses” he says softly. “White roses.”

***

The cake is a little crooked, but it smells good, and Dean hopes that that'll make up for his lack of presentation. The balloons that Sam got are a little closer to purple than blue, but the tablecloth is a nice, deep shade of cobalt that looks very similar to Cas’s eyes. And the roses Sam picked up are beautiful. Thankfully, his little brother took this seriously for once. More often than not, Sam doesn’t focus on the details like Dean does; at least, not when it comes to the smaller things in life.

Sam attempted to help set everything up, but was quickly shooed away by his older brother, so he just leaned against the doorframe of the kitchen as he watched Dean fuss with the tablecloth, the balloons, the vase of flowers—adjusting and readjusting, straightening and moving everything back and forth until he got it just right. He tried not to laugh, but after the sixth time Dean twisted around the vase—stepped back, pulled out a rose and repositioned it in the bouquet, he couldn’t help but bust up. “Oh my God, man. It’s fine! Why are you freaking out about this?”

Dean’s eyes snap to their corners, shooting heated glares at Sam like flaming arrows. “I’m _not_ freaking out.”

“Yeah. You totally are. I don’t think Cas will care that—”

“I want it to be perfect, alright? And if it’s bugging you so much, you don’t have to be here!”

Sam lifts his hands defensively, because he’s really not looking for a fight. “Sorry. Sorry, I’ll shut up.”

“Good” Dean huffs, turning back to the cake, twisting the plate ever so slightly in order to have its best side forward. “Okay, well … I texted Cas. He said he’d be back from Heaven in about an hour, so we should be ready to surprise him by then.”

“Are we … like … hiding and yelling ‘surprise’ too?” Sam asks, unsuccessfully stifling another chuckle.

Dean growls. “ _No, Sam_. He’s not a child. Plus, if we did that, he might pull out his angel blade or something. None of us do well with surprises.”

Sam’s humor falls flat at that. “True enough.” He sighs as he takes one last look across the kitchen. Dean had cleaned most of his mess as the cake was baking, and he has to admit—the tablecloth and flowers does make the utilitarian kitchen feel pretty homy. He’s sure Castiel will be touched by all of Dean’s effort. “Well, I guess I’ll go wait in the library. Just holler when you want me to come back.”

“Yeah, yeah. I will” Dean mutters, going back to mess with the flowers one more time.

Sam smiles, knowing that Dean will be doing that until the very last minute. “He’s gonna love it, man.”

Dean nods, but his face is pale—worried, as if, he’s not so sure. “I hope so.”

***

“You … you did all this … _for_ _me_?” Castiel asks, voice low, weighed down by an onslaught of emotion.

“Yeah” Dean laughs nervously. “You like it?”

Castiel turns to look at him wide eyed and wonderous. “I …”

“Dean worked really hard on all this, man. He really wanted it to be special” Sam offers quickly, just in case the angel was about to say something blunt and cold, like he has been known to do in the past. The last thing Sam wants is for Dean’s feelings to be hurt after going to so much trouble.

“I can see that” Cas says, regarding Sam a moment before twisting back to Dean. “I just … I don’t know _why_. Why would you do all this?”

Dean’s eyes cast toward the ground as he shuffles from heel to toe. “Well, I wanted to … ya know …”

“Show you how much we appreciate you” Sam offers, suddenly feeling like he’s the interpreter for these two idiots.

“Yeah. Y-you were gone, and now you’re back … and …” Dean whispers, still staring at the floor of the kitchen, noting all the spots of flour he missed while cleaning up. He closes his eyes and cringes at himself.

“And …” Sam offers again, “we know you don’t actually have like, a _birthday_ or anything, but Dean thought that New Year’s Eve was as good a day as any, and you deserve a day that’s just about you.”

Castiel’s eyes begin to burn. Tears crest the edges as he blinks, turning once more to the beautiful table—all the blues and whites. The light brown chocolate of the cake. The dark brown peanut butter cups across the top. They look like all the colors he sees in himself, and he wonders if Dean planned that on purpose.

“I … I got you flowers” Dean mutters, barely audible with his chin buried so deep into his chest.

“Well …” Sam begins, about to clarify that _he_ was actually the one who got them, but then he stops himself, realizing once again that that’s not the point. “Yeah. They’re nice, right?”

“Beautiful” Castiel says, reaching out to lightly touch the petals. He can smell their sweet scent. He can sense the dirt from which they came. He can hear the echoes of the bees that pollinated them. To the boys, these might just be simple roses, but to Castiel, they are a dozen little miracles that showcase the beauty of the world.

“Alright … well, _um_ … let’s eat some cake!” Dean says suddenly. His increased volume comes as a shock to the other two, and both Sam and Cas jump as the older Winchester claps his hands together and moves around the kitchen island to get a knife.

Soon, they each have a slice of cake in front of them, and they’re all taking their first bite.

Dean is moaning around his mouthful just as Sam winces with the attack of sugar on his tongue; and Cas’s face is blank as he mulls the bite back and forth in his mouth.

“So…?” Dean asks, quickly shoveling in another forkful.

“It’s _really_ sweet” Sam mumbles, hoping that didn’t sound too much like a complaint.

Dean just rolls his eyes at him, because he doesn’t really care what _Sam’s_ opinion is on it. “Cas … what do you think?”

Castiel takes another moment. He feels each atom clash against one another, but he tries to push the sensation aside to piece together the familiar notes, hoping he can pull the taste from memory and relish in it for Dean’s sake. “Peanut butter” he says slowly. “You made me a peanut butter cake?”

Dean blushes as he nods. “Yeah … you said it was your favorite at one point. Well, you said peanut butter and jelly sandwiches were your favorite, but a peanut butter jelly cake didn’t sound as appetizing for some reason.”

“It’s wonderful, Dean. Thank you” Cas says softly, taking another bite and focusing hard on a smile.

Dean stares at the angel, smiling back as he looks him over. He never thought he’d see him again, not after The Empty came and stole him away; but here he is, solid and real, sitting in front of him and eating cake. Dean can’t remember the last time he’s felt this happy.

Castiel watches Dean as Dean watches him, noting the beautiful life that’s burning behind those green eyes. When he sacrificed himself—when he confessed his love for Dean and gave himself over to The Empty, he truly thought that that would be the last time he was ever lucky enough to be in the presence of Dean Winchester, but now … here he is, sitting beside him, eating a cake that the man lovingly made just for _him_ , and Cas can’t believe that the happiness he felt just before he died is actually being multiplied now. This is a joy he never thought he’d get to experience.

Sam watches as the two stare at one another; and even though—it’s even more sickeningly sweet than this diabetic-death-cake, he can’t say he minds it. He never thought he’d get to watch these two eye-fuck ever again; and he never thought he’d _want_ to watch them eye-fuck again … but they’re both just so damn happy, that Sam can’t help but be happy for them. “I’m gonna … I’m gonna go finish my cake in the library” Sam says after another moment of intense silence.

“Yeah, okay” Dean mumbles, still not looking away from his angel.

Sam chuckles, knowing that he really didn’t need to say anything at all. He could’ve just got up and left and neither Cas or Dean would’ve noticed. They never notice when they get like this. “Good to have you back, buddy” he says, standing up from his seat and clapping Cas on the shoulder.

“Thank you, Sam” Cas answers, but he’s locked onto Dean, and just like Sam predicted, he doesn’t look away either.

***

“I … I got you one more thing” Dean says, rubbing his belly after polishing off his third piece of cake. He finished Cas’s for him and then helped himself to another, which was probably a mistake but he’s too happy to care.

“Dean, you have already done so much. I couldn’t possibly accept anyth—”

Dean stands, quickly waving off Castiel’s concern. “You died for me, man. I literally _can’t_ do enough.”

“ _Dean_ …” Cas attempts again, but Dean is pulling him up by his wrist, and then leads him down the hall towards Cas’s room. “Dean, what are you doing?”

Dean stops just outside of Castiel’s bedroom door and then gestures inside, waiting for the angel to round the corner and take a look.

Castiel furrows his brow but then follows the man’s instruction, stepping past him and into what used to be—his very useless bedroom. He’s an angel. He doesn’t sleep, so a bedroom is a bit pointless, but Dean insisted that the room beside his belong to Castiel; so any time the angel needed to stay over in the bunker, this is where he’d wait out the night. But now, the space is hardly recognizable. The once plain, stark, dark grey bedroom is a beautiful shade of blue. The walls are speckled with framed pictures—pictures of Claire and Jack, of him and Dean and Sam. Pictures of Donna and Jody, and some other people Castiel hasn’t even met, but he can assume are other friends of Dean’s. There are books on the table … books about nature and science; and there are clothes in the closet. Jackets, sweaters, shirts and pants that Castiel doesn’t recognize, but then he notes the tags dangling from them, and that’s when he realizes … Dean bought them. Dean bought clothes just for _him._

“I didn’t know what size you were … but … I figured you and me had to be about the same. I kept all the receipts though, so we can exchange whatever doesn’t fit.”

Castiel’s mouth is hanging open. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know what to think. This is all so … _it’s all just_ _so much._

Dean steps into his view, looking him over—desperately trying to read the angel’s face. “I hope this is okay” he says after another moment. “I just want you to finally feel at home here. I mean, I know this has been your home for a while, but … you never really _owned_ anything to make it personal; and I know that when _I_ first moved in, I couldn’t wait to put my own stamp on this place. I just … I just want you to feel like you have something that’s completely yours. You deserve that. Shit, you deserve a lot more, but this is all I could really do for now. I hope … I hope you like it.”

“I … _you_ … but … I thought …” Castiel stumbles over his words, trying to figure out just which one of the emotions that are crashing over him he should focus on first. “You … you bought me clothes?”

Dean chuckles, reaching out to tug on the angel’s trench coat. “Yeah, man. I mean—I’m all for a signature look, but like … you _are_ allowed to wear something different every now and then.” He smiles up at Castiel, who still looks like he was just hit with a stun gun. “Here” he says after another moment, turning towards the closet to grab a few of the items. “I tried to get separates that could be mixed and matched … I learned that from the Queer Eye guys. God, I love that show. Remind me to make you watch it later.” Dean picks out a pair of jeans and holds it up to the shirt he’s holding and then shakes his head and puts it back. Then he pulls out a darker wash and nods approvingly. “Alright, here. Try these on. I think it’ll look good on you, but if you don’t like it—like I said before, we can totally exchange it for something else.”

“I …” Cas attempts once more, but he’s still at a loss, looking down at the clothes that Dean is shoving into his arms.

“I’ll wait out in the hall.” And with that, Dean scurries out of the room and shuts the door behind him, grinning ear to ear because— _fuck_ if he’s not proud of himself. He pulled it off; and he pulled it off without either Cas or Sam knowing about it. He’s spent the last three days painting and printing out pictures, coordinating with Donna and Jody over the phone on which frames were best; and he’s been texting Charlie constantly, sending her picture after picture of outfit combinations, trusting no one else to give him an honest opinion on what would work for Cas. He needed this to be perfect. He needed the angel to know just how much Dean wants him here—wants him to stay … _stay with him_. “How’s it going in there?” Dean asks, tapping on the door after a few minutes had passed.

“I’m … I’m almost done.”

Dean nods to himself, wondering why it’s taking the guy so long just to change, but then again—it’s not like the angel has much practice changing clothes. _That's sorta why they're doing this._

“What are you doing?” Sam asks, turning the corner of the hallway and stopping when he sees his brother standing outside of Cas’s room.

“I’m _uh_ … waiting for Cas.”

“Waiting for Cas? Why? What’s he doing in there?” Sam says slowly, both curious and slightly weary of the answer.

“He’s changing” Dean says softly, feeling his cheeks burn because he knows that Sam is going to read too much into this.

“Changing?” Sam laughs. “What do you mean _changing?_ The guy has been wearing the same thing for ten years.”

“Yeah, well—I thought that for his birth … _Snap-Day_ or whatever, it might be nice if he had something else to wear.” His face is on fire now, and he really wishes Sam would just piss off and not tease him about this; but in a world where basically _anything_ is possible, Dean knows that _that’s_ one thing that will never come to be.

“So …” Sam snickers, inching closer, feeling far too giddy about this now, “so … what? You … you bought him new clothes? You're ... dressing him? Is he like, your new dolly or something?”

"Fuck off, Sam! You don't—"

At that moment, the door creaks open, and Dean jumps aside as the angel steps out into the hall. His new, dark jeans are hugging closely to his hips, and the white t-shirt stretches tightly across his chest until it disappears beneath the navy-blue buttondown that’s draped over his broad shoulders. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, just how Dean does it, but the angel’s thick forearms wrestle against the folds in a way that makes Dean’s mouth go dry.

“Wow, look at you!” Sam chuckles. “You look like a regular dude!”

“Thank you, Sam—although, I’m not sure if that’s a compliment.”

Sam laughs again. “It is. Seriously. Looks good; but I admit, it’s kinda weird seeing you in something other than that trench coat.”

“Yes, I suppose this change in appearance is rather jarring. What are your thoughts, Dean?” Castiel turns to the eldest Winchester, but is startled by the sight of the man—his skin is stark white and his eyes are the size of saucers. “Dean?”

“Sam … _get lost_ ” Dean mutters suddenly, stepping closer to the angel, causing Cas to step back.

“What?” Sam snorts, looking between the other two, confused.

“I said _beat it_ , Sam!” Dean spits, finally turning to glare his brother down.

Sam starts to object but then sees the situation for what it is. “Ah— _right_. See ya, Cas.”

“What? Sam— _wait_ ” Cas begins and then looks back at Dean. “Dean, why are you telling Sam to leave? Is something wrong?”

Sam smiles as he walks past them. “I’m gonna be in my room—listening to music … very, very loud music.”

“I don’t understand” Cas sputters, but then Dean begins pushing him back, back through the door and into his newly decorated bedroom. “What’s happening?”

Dean turns and shuts the door behind them, but he doesn’t turn around again right away. Instead, he just latches the lock into place and closes his eyes. “Do you remember what you said to me?”

Castiel looks at the man’s back, feeling his grace race beneath his skin as the uncertainty within him grows. “ _What I …?_ What I said to you _when?_ Dean, what is going on?”

Dean still doesn’t turn around. He can’t. His heart is pounding against his ribs—so hard, he starts to feel sick, like his insides are being beaten to mush. “When … when The Empty was about to take you away. Do you remember what you told me?”

Now Cas’s grace is singing inside him, because he had known that at some point—they would have to talk about this. His confession came as a surprise to Dean, of that he’s sure; but in the months that have passed since, Dean has certainly had the time to figure out how he feels about everything. However, the man hadn’t said anything about it when Jack brought him back from the dead, so Cas just assumed that Dean didn’t share his feelings. He resigned himself to just being happy that he’s alive and that he still has their friendship. All he needs is Dean in his life. That’s all he’s ever needed. “Of course I remember; but Dean … you don’t need to—”

“You told me you loved me. You told me you loved me and then you were just _gone_.”

“It was the only way to save you, Dean. I didn’t … I didn’t know any other way.”

“That’s not …” Dean sighs. “That’s not why I’m bringing it up, man. I know—you saved me and you saved the world, and I can never thank you enough for that.” He finally turns around to look the angel in the eyes. Those brilliant blue eyes that have saved him time and time again—they are saving him still. They save him every second of every day. Dean sighs once more. “But I never got the chance to … and now … you’re here … and you aren’t wearing your coat … and you’re just …”

Castiel inspects the man’s face, trying to read him, trying to understand. “What are you saying, Dean? And why would my old clothes matter?”

“Because they’re always what you died in!” Dean spits, tears building in his eyes. “Damn near every time I saw you get killed, you were in that fucking trench coat! It was either covered in your blood or in black goo, or _whatever_ , but that same damn coat … I buried you in that coat! I burned your body in that coat! And now … now you’re here, and you’re finally wearing something I haven’t seen you _die_ in, and … _fuck_ , man! I just …” Dean turns away again as he wipes his eyes.

“Dean …” Castiel steps closer, reaching out to touch the man’s shoulder. He had no idea that the simple act of changing clothes could mean so much, nor did he realize that that old coat of Jimmy’s held so many painful memories for Dean. He would have changed out of it a long time ago if he had known it was hurting the man so much. “Dean, I’m sorry.”

“No! I’m not … _shit_ … don’t apologize!” Dean gasps, still wiping at his eyes as he faces Cas once more. “I’m just saying—seeing you wearing something knew, it’s like, it’s like I can finally see that everything’s gonna be okay. We don’t have to fight anymore … and I … I won’t have to lose you again.” Dean closes the small space between them and stares into Cas’s eyes, feeling his own dry as certainty fills his heart. “I love you too, Cas. That’s all I’m trying to say. I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner, but I didn’t know ... I didn’t know if you still felt that way. I fucked up. I shouldn’t have let you go; but then Jack brought you back and … you didn’t say it again, so I …” Dean runs his hands through his hair, really wishing he could shut himself up, but he feels like someone just busted the handle off his tap and he can’t stop his rush of emotions from flooding the room. “But that doesn’t matter now … even if you don’t feel the same anymore. Even if I missed my chance, seeing you like this— _here_. _You’re home_ , and I’m so fucking happy that you’re back. You could never look at me again and I’d still just be so fucking happy that you’re back.”

Castiel is quiet for a long moment—unblinking and stoic as he searches Dean’s eyes, diving deep into them until his swimming through the man’s soul. “How could you” he finally says, and Dean visibly breaks under the weight of his words. Castiel steps closer, catching him, holding him together “… how could you possibly think I don’t feel the same way? How could you think for even one moment that my love for you could waver? _Dean Winchester,_ you are quite possibly the most beautiful, most wonderful, most _idiotic_ man on the face of the planet, and I will love you until this planet is engulfed in the fiery bursts of the sun. You are my eternity, Dean. You’re my everything.”

Dean’s breath rumbles out of his chest in shallow gusts, but once again—Cas is there to catch every piece of him. The angel’s mouth fits against his own like the petals of a rose, wrapping around one another to form something beautiful, other worldly, soft and sweet; but not without its thorns. Teeth soon nip his soft skin. Fingernails dig into his arms, and that angelic strength is soon lifting him and hurtling him onto the bed. For a brief moment, Dean gets to witness the divine glory that is _Castiel_ —glowing and grand as he powers towards Dean on the bed, covering him like a protective blanket. The angel is beautiful, and Dean would be content watching him like that forever; but he’s also never been this turned on in all his life, so he’s relieved when Castiel begins undoing those new jeans of his … and thankfully, he’s much quicker with taking clothes off than he is, putting them on.

“Is this what you want, Dean?” Castiel growls, holding himself back a moment, because he knows that he’s on the cusp of tearing this man apart by the atoms, but he needs to be sure they’re on the same page. However, judging by the ravenous look in Dean’s eyes, he has a good feeling they are.

Dean nods slow, scanning his eyes across the angel’s bear chest and legs as he licks his lips. He’s never really seen Castiel like this before. Yes … he was naked on his car that one time, but he was also covered in bees, and Dean might have a lot of kinks, but _bees_ is not one of them.

Castiel rears up, pulling off the rest of his new ensemble, until he’s completely naked—giving the man another moment to look him over. He has always had a feeling that Dean found his vessel sexually appealing, but he figured that he should let him take stock of everything here and now, just in case he wants to change his mind.

But the only thing on Dean’s mind is getting just as naked, and soon—he’s scrambling to his knees and pulling off his shirt too. And then he rather ungracefully, shimmies out of his pants and underwear, until he’s in nothing but socks.

The angel eyes take in the sight—knowing that he _has_ seen Dean naked before. He rebuilt this body, he cherished it in his hands when he pulled it out of Hell, and he has watched over it in the years that followed. He has appreciated every freckle and praised every scar. This beautiful creation has been his salvation, but he never thought that it would be offered to him like this—given over, open, _wanting_ … Castiel feels a need bloom within him. Its presence—stronger than anything he has ever known. “Dean, I am going to take you—right here on this bed, and from this moment on, I will be yours for as long as you want me.”

Dean leans back, eventually lying flat—looking up at the all powerful being, seeing him just as he did all those years ago. Castiel, angel of the lord. Indestructible. Immense and terrifying; but still, the most amazing thing Dean had ever seen. “Cas …” he whispers, barely able to breathe because he’s waited so long for this, he doesn’t want to waste any more time on silly things like air—but he knows that his angel needs to hear what he has to say. “If you take me, right here on this bed—I won’t want anything but _you_ until the day that I die.” He lunges forward and pulls Castiel into him, kissing him harder, loving him more and more with every second his heart continues to beat.

“ _Dean_ ” Cas gasps into his mouth.

“And … and even after I die, your ass better be up in Heaven waiting for me.”

Castiel laughs. “Wherever you are, I’ll be.”

“Promise me” Dean begs, holding onto the angel the way he wished he held onto him before—the way he swears he’ll hold him from now on.

“I promise you, Dean. I will never leave you again.” And for the first time, Castiel knows he can keep that promise. As long as Dean exists, he will exist for him.

Dean could die right now having just heard those words, and he would be content—but as the angel presses their bodies together, his hard cock rutting into Dean’s hip, he’s really fucking grateful that he gets to go on living, because this is finally more than a dream. This is real, and there’s no way in hell he’s going to fuck up this chance. With an eager grin, Dean reaches over to the bedside table, ready to open the drawer and pull out the lube he keeps there, but then he remembers, they’re not in his room, and the only thing in that drawer is the Bible … something Dean put in as a joke. “Fuck … I … I need …”

“What? Tell me what you need, Dean. I want to please you.”

Dean shudders with Castiel’s words. They’re both extremely hot and extremely embarrassing, and he just can’t comprehend such a contradiction while dealing with such a major boner. “Lube … it’s, it’s in my room.”

Castiel pulls himself up a little and then looks towards the wall that separates their bedrooms, and then he lifts up his hand, the way Dean has seen him do when he means to obliterate a door.

“Woah! Hey, wait … _shit_ , don’t break down the fucking wall! I can just go get it!” Dean yelps, scurrying upright and pulling Cas’s arm down again.

“I’m simply trying to give you what you need, Dean.”

“Yeah, well—a pile of rubble is _not_ what I need right now. Just hang the fuck on! I’ll be right back.” Dean hops to his feet and then grabs the pillow off the bed, holding it over his crotch as he moves towards the door. He takes a look back at Castiel, scanning over that tan, bulky body—already missing the weight of it on top of him, and his cock presses hard against the pillow. _Lube_. He just needs to run into his room and get the lube and then he’ll be back in here getting fucked by an angel. Dean grins to himself, swinging the door open wide—only to walk out and straight into Sam.

“Woah—oh my God!” Sam shrieks. He looks at his naked brother, and then over Dean’s head into Cas’s room, seeing an even more naked angel kneeling on the bed. “Oh … oh, oh my God!”

Dean’s entire body burns with shame, and he’s about to fall back into the room and slam the door when a tan arm reaches past him to touch Sam on the forehead.

Sam’s body hits the ground with a _thud_.

Dean whips around, shocked and stammering as Castiel crowds up behind him. “Wh-what the fuck did you do?”

“He’s asleep. Now, go get what you need” Cas says flatly.

Dean gestures back to Sam. “You knocked him out? Why did you knock him out?”

Castiel rolls his eyes, hating that Dean always feels the need to ask the stupidest questions at the most inopportune times. “If I didn’t, you two would spend the next twenty minutes arguing and making fun of one another, and we’d both be flaccid and unable to perform. I would much rather continue what we were doing than entertain you humans’ incessant need to mock one another. Now, go get what you need so I can pleasure you in a way that will have you screaming my name.”

Dean swallows thickly, immediately spinning back to step over his brother’s lanky body as it sprawls across the hallway. “Sorry, Sammy … but you’ll be alright” he mutters, finally dashing into his room to get the lube from his drawer. He briefly looks at the condoms in the box sitting beside the bottle, but then realizes that there’s probably no venereal diseases that can be transmitted from an angel to a human—if anything, Cas’s cock will probably make him explode into a pink mist or something, and no amount of rubber will save him from _that_. But, considering just how hot the angel looks right now, that seems like a pretty good way to go in Dean’s opinion.

“Dean—what is taking you so long?”

Dean shuts the drawer again and rushes back into the other room, still taking care not to step on his unconscious little brother before he goes inside and locks the door again. “You sure he’s alright?”

Castiel rolls his eyes once more. “Dean. I have been in love with you for over a decade and now I’m finally getting the chance to claim you … do you really think I’d ruin the mood by killing your brother?”

Dean chuckles nervously, but he doesn’t have a chance to think about it anymore because Castiel is lifting him off the ground and throwing him back onto the bed. Dean gawks at the angel as he looms over him, room darkening as he sucks up the light—eyes glowing blue, wings flashing iridescent in the shadows.

Castiel takes the lube from Dean’s hand and inspects it a moment, reading the label quickly to confirm what he had suspected it was for—and then he pops open the top and squeezes some of the viscous liquid into his palm, eventually closing the bottle again and tossing it to the floor. He stares Dean down as he slicks himself up, and then he switches to Dean—stroking his slippery fingers up the man’s shaft and over the head of his cock, holding back just enough of his strength in order not to crush him.

Dean’s vision whites out—and his thoughts blur to nothing but TV static and high-pitched ringing. Castiel’s hold on him is so tight, he feels like he’s on the edge already; but he can’t cum. He doesn’t know how, but somehow, Cas isn’t letting him. “What … what? H-how?” Dean rambles, grabbing at the sheets and tearing them from the mattress.

Castiel’s voice rumbles low across Dean’s body. “I don’t have infinite power, Dean … but when I lay my hands upon a human, with their permission, I can take control. Just as I could enter your body if you allowed me access, I can also control its parts. You said I could take you, Dean. So, as soon as I began to touch you this way—your will was no longer your own. _I decide_ what you will feel. _I decide_ how you will move, and _I decide_ when you will finally have release … and _I have decided_ that I want to wreck you first.”

“Oh … oh fuck!” Dean gasps, both scared and impossibly horny.

“Your mouth, however … I left _that_ to you. I enjoy listening to the filth that spills from it” Castiel chuckles wickedly, still stroking Dean’s cock up and down.

“Fuck me, fuck! Please fuck me now!” Dean begs, needing to feel something more than the needling thrill where Castiel has him perched.

“Mm, yes. Like that. Such a dirty mouth, Dean Winchester.”

“Oh God damnit! You’re a fucking sadist!”

“I was one of Heaven’s best torturers, Dean. I know how to drive a being insane.”

Dean’s eyes roll into the back of his head as Castiel speeds up his strokes. “I fucking hate you.”

Castiel slows down again, scooting forward and spreading Dean’s legs wider to make space for his body. “No, Dean …” he rumbles, lining up his cock with the man’s opening, using his grace to force Dean’s muscles to relax as he thrusts inside him. Dean screams, reaching back to grab the headboard as his eyes burst wide. Castiel smiles. “You said you loved me, and there’s no taking it back now.” Castiel rams into Dean again, soaking up the feeling of this man—this wonderful, strong, brilliant man, wrapping himself around him and opening himself up for the angel. People wrote God as condemning temptations of the flesh, but Castiel knows—he knows now, that God would have never created sensations such as this if they were not meant to be treasured; and Castiel treasures Dean. This beautiful boy is his everything. He is his reason for living. He is reason for dying. He is his reason for faith.

Dean is manic, feral as he tangles his limbs in the sheets. Castiel’s grace is thumbing through his body and plucking at all his nerves. Dean feels the angel touching every inch of his skin somehow, even though he only has one hand on Dean’s cock, and the other on his thigh—holding it up and out of the way so he can slam into him over and over. In the dim light, Dean swears he can see the feathers of Cas’s wings fan out—looking just as erect and hard as he is. It is magnificent and breathtaking, and taking every last bit of his concentration just to try and focus on the sight; but Castiel’s hold is too strong, and soon Dean is screaming out again. The angel falls into him deeper, crashing against his pleasure point with all his weight. Those dark arms are straining as he holds the two of them back—keeping their inevitable climax at bay. Dean gasps as he looks over the muscles in Cas’s body—flexing and relaxing, rolling boulders beneath perfectly tanned skin. He’s beautiful. He’s beautiful and he’s _Dean’s_. “Please, Cas” Dean begs again, but he’s not even sure what he’s begging for anymore.

Castiel eyes shine a brighter blue as his grace lights him up from within. “You want me to give you release, Dean?”

“Yes! Fuck! Yes, _please!_ ”

Castiel bends forward and thrusts harder, feeling himself shake Dean’s to his very core. “Then tell me again” he commands. “Tell me you love me.”

Dean’s eyes dart back and forth across the blue—that furious, raging blue there has never been more terrifying, yet, Dean has never felt more safe … more complete. Even in the palm of this great being’s hand, even though he feels like he’s coming apart at the seams, Dean has never felt this whole in all his life, and he wants the angel to feel the same. “I love you” he gasps, throwing his arms around Castiel’s neck. “I love you! I love you! I love you!” His exclamations punctuate each one of the angel’s final beats, beating hearts with beating bodies, colliding until they beat as one, meeting at the peak of each other’s pleasure, fountaining up and into one another, moaning and groaning—collapsing and connecting, disconnecting from their earthly bodies to exist on a higher plane where they are nothing but heady heart and humbled heads.

Castiel is shaking, finally relinquishing his grace’s hold on Dean’s soul—slightly terrified that now that the man has control again, he’ll regret all of this. “Dean … I …”

“Thank you, Cas” Dean gravels, feeling half dead and blissful. “Thank you for not blowing me up with your dick.”

The angel lifts his head to look at the man as Dean smiles and drifts off to sleep. “Dean? _Dean_ … why would you think I would blow you up with my penis?” He shakes the man—using the last bit of his exhausted grace to shock him awake again. “Dean!”

Dean jolts, eyes opening a moment—settling on Castiel’s face a moment later and it makes him smile more. “I love you so much, Cas” he whispers, finally passing out for good, becoming the second Winchester that the angel has knocked unconscious tonight.

Castiel smiles too. Happy that this beautiful man still loves him—happy that he’s still here _to be loved._ And even though he knows that this may not be the anniversary of the day he was created **—** it will forever be the anniversary of the day he became whole.

**Author's Note:**

> Sam had woken up to the sounds of Dean—begging Castiel to fuck him, and he would go on to have that sound haunt him every New Year's Eve for the rest of his life.
> 
> One Winchester's pleasure is the other's pain.
> 
> That's just how it had to be apparently.


End file.
